


in the dawning light

by embraidery



Series: in the dawning light [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Love, Trans Hermione Granger, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22015846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embraidery/pseuds/embraidery
Summary: "--Hermione's a girl!" Ron says, in the manner of a man saying Eureka!"Thanks for that, Ron," Hermione replies, only half sarcastic."No, I mean--you're a girl, we can ask you to the Ball!"Hermione's quill stops scratching against her parchment.Ron obliviously continues, "Shall we flip for it, Harry?""First of all, that's really not how it works, Ronald. Second of all…" Hermione closes her eyes and bites down on her smile-- "I already have a date."
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Series: in the dawning light [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601728
Comments: 17
Kudos: 165





	in the dawning light

**Author's Note:**

> I took an intentionally laissez-faire attitude to canon, so if something's not as you expect, assume it's on purpose. 
> 
> Title is from Wona by Mumford & Sons -- the song is not at all appropriate to the story, I just love the phrase "in the dawning light"! How gentle.
> 
> Enjoy =)

Hermione knows that Harry and Ron are idiots. There has to be a better way to tell them that she’s trans than to say "I'm a girl" as she carries her trunk up the stairs to the girl's dorm. In her defense, there are other things on her mind, like stepping onto that staircase for the second time and feeling it stay solid beneath her questing feet. _Thank you, Hogwarts,_ she whispers, looking up at the stone ceiling, before continuing up the stairs. 

Lavender and Parvati welcome her in. Over the next few weeks they give her some of their makeup and teach her how to use it. Hermione learns how to line her eyes and gloss her lips. Parvati watches videos on how to braid Afro-textured hair and tries a few simple braids on Hermione. Her wardrobe stays much the same, because all the students wear robes and ties, though she’s starting to wear bras. It's surprisingly comforting to have an anchor amongst all the other things that are changing.

But, somehow, most things stay the same. She's the same Hermione she's always been, just with a different understanding of who that Hermione is, and she does all the same things. She tells Ron and Harry how silly they are, knits hats for SPEW, and sits in the library for hours upon hours.

It's funny, she realises, but her library friend has never asked her name. He's only ever asked her for a quill. She does consider them friends: he smiles at her when their eyes happen to meet, a shy little smile she'd like to see more of, and she passes him squares of chocolate across the table when Madam Pince isn't looking. Sometimes she checks out a book after he does and finds scraps of parchment tucked into the pages: notes in Bulgarian and English, doodles of Snitches and brooms. But he's never asked her name, and she's never asked his. She does know what it is, of course, but she's not the kind to make a fuss over what he's famous for when he's in the library studying. Plus, she hardly wants to be like the girls constantly sighing over him in the hallways.

Anyway, it gives her great pleasure to be able to introduce herself as Hermione, when he finally asks, knowing that he has never known her by any other name.

"I like your braids," he says softly one day, and has to repeat himself slightly louder. "Your braids, they are nice. I'm Viktor. Vat's your name?"

"Hermione." Hermione smiles and sticks out her hand, and they shake.

"Her-me-own?" he says slowly, feeling out each syllable. 

It's funny. She spent so long choosing her new name, but it gives her a bit of a thrill to hear this new version of it. Hermyown, her very first new nickname. She doesn't try to correct his pronunciation. 

After that, they talk a little more. They start sitting next to each other in the library. Viktor brings little packets of Bulgarian candy from home. Hermione’s favourite is _temenuzhka_ , little lavender-flavoured butterflies that come to ‘life’ and flutter in her mouth. She can’t help but smile every time she has one. She asks what the name means, and he says he doesn’t know the word exactly, but it’s a colour, a purple? It’s also a flower. She lists off all the purple flowers she knows--heather, no, lavender, no, lilac, no, periwinkle, no--they begin to laugh. Madam Pince glares, and Hermione covers her laughs with her hand. 

“Violet?” Hermione says finally, and Viktor smiles and nods. Yes, that’s it. Violet.

“They’re more of a lavender colour, though,” Hermione says, picking up another butterfly and balancing it on her fingertip. 

Viktor shrugs. “I do not think English always uses right vord, either.”

Hermione can’t help but agree. She pops the candy into her mouth and giggles as the wings brush against the roof of her mouth. 

“Vill I see you tomorrow, _temenuzhka?"_ Viktor asks, later, when dusk has fallen and the kerosene lamps have been lit. 

Hermione looks up from her book and smiles. “Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Viktor smiles at her as he settles his book bag onto his shoulder and slopes out of the library with that distinctive walk of his. She’s never seen him just sling his bag onto his shoulder as many of them do; he’s always very careful with it, treating it as though it’s made of something precious and delicate.

It’s like that for a few weeks. She usually arrives in the library first. He comes later, wending his way between the shelves, acknowledging everyone who waves at him with a curt little nod. Hermione takes her book bag off the seat next to her and puts it on the floor, making room for him. 

“Hello, _temenuzhka,"_ Viktor says, smiling at her. “Vat do you study today?”

“I have an essay for Arithmancy,” Hermione says. She waves her half-written essay at him. 

“Vat is this Arithmancy?”

“It involves predicting the future with numbers.” Hermione picks up her stack of Arithmancy charts and hands them over.

Viktor flicks through the charts, stopping here and there to examine one more closely. “I do not think ve haff this subject at Durmstrang. It looks very interesting.”

They haven’t really talked about Durmstrang before, or what he likes to study. To be fair, they haven’t talked very much. The library isn’t the right place. Not for the first time, Hermione wishes they could meet somewhere else to talk without books and Madam Pince in the way.

“What do you like to study?”

Viktor sets down her charts and glances over his books. “I like vizarding history,” he says slowly, “and runes, and some of...dueling spells? Not to be evil,” he quickly reassures her, “but it is cool to make a snake, sometimes.” 

Hermione smiles. “It _is_ cool to make a snake. Do you have a good history of magic teacher? Ours isn’t very good.” 

“Yes, I think so. Before ve left she told us about the vitch burnings. I like hearing about vizard and muggle...vat is the vord...how they feel about each other?”

“Sentiment? Relations?”

“Relations, yes. I am interested in vizard and muggle relations in history.”

Hermione can see Madam Pince keeping a watchful eye on them over Viktor’s shoulder. “I would really like to hear more, but maybe we should go somewhere else. I don’t think Madam Pince is very happy.”

Viktor twists in his seat to look at the librarian. “I do not think she is very happy, no.” He looks back at Hermione, a smile in his eyes. “Ve could go to your common room, I think it is called? Our boat is not very...nice.” 

“Okay.” Hermione smiles as she gets up and gathers her books and papers into her bag. They walk quietly out of the library, but as soon as they are out, they burst into giggles for no particular reason. Hermione is in high spirits as they walk up to Gryffindor tower. They settle into chairs in front of the fire and talk about history, discrimination, and being an outsider to the wizarding world. It turns out that while Viktor grew up in a pureblood family, his birth parents were a muggleborn and a wizard.

“I remember my _mamo_ reading to me _The Moomintrolls,"_ he says, “do you know them?”

“I loved _The Moomintrolls!"_ Hermione gasps. “Who was your favourite?”

“I like Snufkin.” Viktor smiles. He takes out a fresh piece of parchment and begins to doodle a Snufkin in the corner.

Hermione leans forward in her chair to look at the drawing. “That’s a cute Snufkin.” 

“Who vas your favourite?”

Hermione shrugs. “I liked them all, though I didn’t like Little My as much.” 

“Ahh, I like Little My. Such a grumpy little girl.” Viktor signs his drawing with a flourish and hands it to Hermione. “Here. For you.” 

Hermione can practically feel her heart melting. “Thank you!” She holds it out and smiles at the drawing before setting it on the table with the rest of her papers. When she looks up again, she catches Viktor looking at her with a heartbreakingly soft expression on his face. Her heart shivers and quivers.

“I should go,” Viktor says softly, looking down at his books. 

“You don’t have to go,” Hermione says, just as softly. 

Viktor smiles a little. “I vill go. But I vill see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Viktor,” Hermione says. She feels like reaching forward and squeezing his hand, or kissing his cheek, which is an unfamiliar feeling. She settles for picking up the drawing of Snufkin. “Thank you.”

“You are velcome, _temenuzhka."_ Viktor stands up and puts his bag over his shoulder, just as careful as every other time, and smiles at her before he turns to go. She watches him until the Fat Lady swings closed and she can’t see him anymore. She sits there in the chair, just thinking and staring into the fire, until Harry and Ron come clattering in and start asking to see her History of Magic notes.

Professor McGonagall announces the Yule Ball the very next day. Hermione’s mind immediately jumps to Viktor. She can’t get her hopes up, though. He’d probably have his pick of all the people in the castle who are interested in boys. Still, Hermione immediately starts thinking about what she might wear. Her mind jumps unbidden to muggle dresses--she’s gone to Hogwarts for years, but wearing robes still wouldn’t feel quite right. That night, she walks into her dorm to find Parvati and Lavender chattering about the ball. 

“Who do you want to ask you, Hermione?” asks Parvati.

Hermione clutches her pillow to her chest. She can’t say it without sounding like just another fangirl. She desperately wants to join in the fluffy girl-talk with her roommates, but for now, she keeps her friendship with Viktor cradled to her chest like a baby bird. 

“I don’t know,” Hermione says, and except for the obvious, it isn’t a lie. Hogwarts is small, and no one has ever caught her eye for more than a week or so. 

“That’s no fun!” says Lavender.

“Who do you want to ask you?” Hermione asks, sitting down on her bed. She leans down to unlace her boots as she listens. The other girls soon move on to the topic of dresses, which Hermione can get behind. 

The whole week is like that. In each of their classes, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff girls talk to Hermione about the dance. She smiles politely each time and tells them she would just be happy to go, and then tells them she wants to buy a Muggle dress, which always incites curiosity. 

Hermione goes to the library each day as usual, but Viktor isn’t there. She sees him in the halls sometimes, followed by throngs of giggling girls and blushing boys, and she imagines he would rather not spend time in a public place like the library. Her heart still falls each day he doesn’t come join her. 

On Friday, though, he’s in the library when she arrives. She grins as she settles into the seat next to him. “Nice to see you,” she says, and doesn’t say she missed him.

“Nice to see you, _temenuzhka,"_ he says, smiling. He sets a packet of Bulgarian chocolates on the table between them, and they get to work, but not before catching up. He’s had a busy week, he says wryly. 

They work in companionable silence for a while. They’re interrupted at one stage by a boy coming up and asking if he can speak to Viktor in private. Viktor and Hermione exchange glances, then Viktor stands up and walks down to the end of a bookshelf with the boy, dressed in Beauxbatons blue. Hermione watches as the boy gives Viktor a rose and they speak briefly. They shake hands and part, the boy leaving the library while Viktor comes back to the table. He stuffs the rose into his bag.

“Yule Ball,” Viktor says gruffly, picking up his quill, and Hermione senses he wants to leave it at that. They keep working as the sun sets, flooding the library with orange light. Eventually Viktor clears his throat. Hermione looks up. He hands her a bag of _temenuzhka_ and a card made of thick white paper. Emblazoned across the front in clumsy calligraphy is the phrase _“_ you make my heart flutter.” She opens the card to see “Will you go to the ball with me?”

“Did I do it right?” Viktor asks nervously.

“Yes!” Hermione says. “It’s perfect!” She leans forward and extends her arms, and he awkwardly folds her into a gentle hug. 

“I am happy you like it,” he says into her shoulder. She lets him go and they exchange smiles. 

Even after Viktor asks her to the ball, Hermione kind of wants to keep it to herself. But she drifts from class to class, absently smiling at nothing, and it doesn’t take long for Parvati and Lavender to weasel the secret out of her.

“VIKTOR KRUM?” Lavender shrieks.

“Oh, Hermione, I’m so happy for you!” Parvati leans forward to hug Hermione from where she’s perched on the end of Hermione’s bed. 

“How did he ask?” Lavender asks, and Hermione pulls the card out from beneath her pillow. The girls coo over it and stroke the soft, creamy paper. 

After that, it’s time to get a dress. She stays back after Transfiguration the next week to speak to Professor McGonagall.

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger. How may I help you?” Professor McGonagall looks up at Hermione from over her glasses. 

Hermione nervously twists her hands in front of her. “I want to get a muggle dress for the Yule Ball, and I was wondering if I could have some Floo powder to go to The Leaky Cauldron.” 

Professor McGonagall takes off her glasses and rubs the side of her nose. “This is a highly unusual request, Miss Granger.” She puts her glasses back on. “For you, though, I can make that happen. Would you allow me to accompany you?”

It’s not exactly the kind of shopping trip Hermione was hoping for, but if it’s the only way… “Of course, Professor.”

So that afternoon, after classes, Hermione goes to Professor McGonagall’s office. She nearly shrieks when the professor opens the door arrayed in muggle clothes: bell-bottom jeans, hiking boots, and a tartan peacoat. Her hair is loose around her face, with a distinct wave from having been in a bun all day. 

Professor McGonagall opens the door wider to allow Hermione through. She gestures to her fireplace. There’s a small dish of green powder on the mantel. “I rarely use my Floo powder, so it may be rather dusty,” she says, winding a wool scarf around her neck. “Shall we?”

Hermione steps into the fire first. It’s a short trip to the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron, where Tom was evidently expecting them, as he welcomes her warmly and offers her a butterbeer. Hermione is a girl on a mission, though, and politely declines the drink.

The streets of muggle London are crowded with tourists and Christmas shoppers loaded down with bags. It buoys Hermione’s spirits to be back in familiar territory, and she suddenly wishes with a sharp spike in her chest that her mum was with her. She makes a brief detour to buy a disposable camera to take pictures of her shopping trip.

It’s only the second time Hermione has been shopping for muggle girl clothes. She’d spent plenty of time sneaking glances over at that section of the store, but she’d never quite let herself go over there and take a real look until that summer before school. She didn’t really need muggle clothes during the school year, of course, but she’d bought some basics, bought her first bras. Now she runs her hands over all the beautiful fabrics and delights in all the colours, every flavour from pastel to neon. There are dresses with sheath skirts and a-line skirts and big poofy ball gown skirts. There are dresses with sweetheart necklines and boat necklines and scoop necklines. Hermione pauses to take selfies with her face buried in the fabrics for her mum, which makes McGonagall say, well, _really_.

Hermione doesn’t even know where to start until she sees The Dress.

It’s exactly the sort of ball gown she’d dreamed of, with delicate layers of chiffon over the skirt and delicate crystal beads on the bodice. The fact that it’s somewhere between periwinkle and lavender, nearly the same colour as the _temenuzhka,_ feels like a sign. She finds one in her size on the rack and reverently takes it into the changing room. 

It’s even more beautiful against her dark skin. Hermione unconsciously raises a hand to her throat, staring at herself in the mirror. She snaps some pictures for her mom before stepping out of the stall to show Professor McGonagall, who actually smiles and says she looks very nice. It’s glowing praise from McGonagall. She buys the dress and watches like a hawk as the sales lady wraps it in tissue paper and tucks it into a cardboard box. 

It’s harder to find lavender shoes in Hermione’s size, but they eventually track down a pair of silver heels that would work. She tops off her outfit with a silver clutch and a handful of lavender butterfly hair clips. Hermione goes back to Hogwarts with a big balloon of excitement in her chest. It’s a new feeling, being allowed to get excited about dresses. Back when she hadn’t yet known she was a girl, she’d been oddly interested in it all, but she’d dismissed it all as “girly” and squashed any interest way down to the bottom of her heart. 

She’s a mess of nerves and butterflies when she goes to the library the next afternoon. She is the queen of self-discipline, and the library is her happy place, but she still can't quite focus on her work. She sighs and pulls out a piece of parchment to write a letter to her parents, rolling it up tightly and putting it into her bag when she's done. 

He arrives just after she finishes the letter and settles into his seat next to her. 

_"Zdravei,"_ he says merrily. 

_"Zdravei,"_ Hermione says, stumbling over the unfamiliar consonant. "Does that mean hello?"

"Yes!" Viktor pulls one of his textbooks from his bag. It's a stunningly cold day, and he's arrayed in his wool uniform and more furs than she's ever seen him wear. She'd never really thought him handsome before. Now he's smiling, his eyes are bright, and he's all wrapped up in fur. She thinks him fiercely beautiful. 

For her own part, Hermione put on two sweaters over her robes that morning, and she's still a little cold. She's still a little nervous, but now it's just a little swoop in her stomach, nothing she can't deal with. She takes out the gummy worms she bought in muggle London to share. She rips the heads off the worms with her teeth before eating the rest of the worm, as is tradition, but Viktor solemnly nibbles his way down the length of the entire worm. It makes her laugh. 

"You look like a rabbit eating a carrot," she tells Viktor, and he rapidly chatters his teeth at her in a very silly imitation of a rabbit. She chatters her teeth back at him.

"I do not think rabbits have potions homevork," Viktor says. He takes out a roll of parchment and shakes it so that it unspools across the table. "Three pages for Professor Snape. I like potions, but I do not like writing in English." 

"I can check it over when you're done," Hermione says, wondering to herself whether there are any translation spells. 

"Thank you, _temenuzhka._ " Viktor smiles at her and briefly puts his hand over hers where it rests on the table. 

Her heart leaps and stutters, but before she can decide what to do, Viktor has removed his hand from hers and started writing his essay.

She begins working on her own essay.

Even when they're quiet together, it's nicer than being alone, and that's saying something coming from Hermione. The soft rhythm of his breath is soothing. Sometimes they bump elbows or reach for a gummy worm at the same time. Sometimes they have a mini wrestling match over a pink and yellow worm, their shared favourite. Viktor usually lets her win. Once they accidentally rip the worm in half.

"You got the longer piece, so your wish is going to come true," Hermione whispers. 

"Vat?" Viktor whispers back.

"Oh--we have a tradition of breaking a turkey bone in half, and whoever gets the bigger half gets a wish."

Viktor stares at her. "A turkey bone."

"Yes, well, now that I think about it--"

"It is funny, but it is cute," Viktor says, smiling. "You take the wish." He offers her the longer half of the worm.

She could explain that that's not how it works, but she takes it and gives him her segment of the worm. _I wish for more of this,_ she thinks fervently, eyes closed. Then she pops the worm in her mouth and bites down.

The month before the Yule Ball passes unbelievably quickly. She's busy with the library, and SPEW, and trying to convince Harry and Ron not to be idiots (a futile effort, she knows, but she has to try)...and in the blink of an eye it's only five days before the dance. Everything has already been discussed within an inch of its life with Parvati and Lavender, and even Ginny knows what's what. As far as Hermione knows, though, Harry and Ron still haven't asked anyone to the ball. 

They talk about it one evening in the common room. Hermione's only half-listening to them dither when she hears her name--apparently Ginny had whipped the two of them into shape when it came to calling her Hermione.

"--Hermione's a girl!" Ron says, in the manner of a man saying _Eureka!_

"Thanks for that, Ron," Hermione replies, only half sarcastic.

"No, I mean--you're a girl, we can ask you to the Ball!"

Hermione's quill stops scratching against her parchment. 

Ron obliviously continues, "Shall we flip for it, Harry?"

"First of all, that's really not how it works, Ronald. Second of all…" Hermione closes her eyes and bites down on her smile-- "I already have a date."

"What?" Harry exclaims. He and Ron look at her incredulously. "And you didn't tell us?"

"No, I didn't." Hermione smiles and goes back to working on her essay. "Before you ask, I'm not telling you who it is."

"Awh, Hermione, come on!" Ron says, but Hermione keeps mum.

She really doesn't know who the boys are going to ask at this point. Parvati and Lavender had asked each other in a startling burst of self-awareness. Ginny is going with Neville. There are, of course, more Gryffindor girls both slightly older and younger than they are, but Hermione doesn’t think Harry or Ron know any of their names. It’s surprising how insular both of them can be, how they haven’t made many other friends in all their years here. 

Parvati comes down the stairs from their dorm, hand-in-hand with Lavender. As soon as she works out what Harry and Ron are talking about, she gives them a pitying look. “You _still_ haven’t asked anyone?”

“No,” says Harry, putting his head in his hands. “Well, I asked Cho, but…”

“I don’t think Padma’s going with anyone, and maybe she’ll know someone in Ravenclaw who still needs a date,” Parvati says. 

“Who’s Padma?” Ron asks, balancing his quill on his finger.

Lavender titters. 

Parvati rolls her eyes. “My sister.” 

“I’m game,” says Ron, shrugging. 

“I’ll let you know what she says,” Parvati tells him, and she and Lavender sweep out of the common room, leaving behind the mingled scent of their perfumes. 

The next day in the library, Hermione asks Viktor if he knows how to dance. He does.

“Will you teach me?”

“Of course, _temenuzhka."_

They find an unused classroom and push all the desks to the side of the room. Viktor takes her hand in his and settles his other hand on her waist, as solemn and sure as everything else he does.

“Okay?” he whispers.

“More than okay,” Hermione whispers back, looking up at him.

It doesn’t take long for Hermione to get the hang of the waltz. She knows it’s counted in 3 / 4 time, and she’s seen people do it before. As awkward as Viktor sometimes seems to be standing on his own two feet, he becomes a different man when waltzing around the room, and he effortlessly pulls her along with him. 

It’s perfect. She can’t even imagine how she’ll feel when they’re in the Great Hall, stars and Christmas lights twinkling around them. 

The last few days before the dance last forever, but finally, finally, it’s Christmas morning, the day of the dance. Hermione takes her presents over to the boys’ dorm to open them with Ron and Harry, as is tradition, and they’re all excellent. Her present from Viktor is wrapped in shiny purple paper; it was clear he tried his best to make it neat. Under the paper is a bag of _temenuzhka,_ a pheasant-feather quill, and a necklace: a golden butterfly pendant with a little amethyst in the corner strung on a smooth gold chain. It is all so beautiful. She’s never seen a pheasant-feather quill before. The bottom half is striped black and white; the top half is an elegant pen-stroke of gold. She runs the feather over her cheek, enjoying the soft sensation, before clasping the necklace around her neck. 

“Who’s that from?” Ron leans over the edge of the bed to look at the quill. 

“My Yule date.” Hermione hopes she isn’t blushing, though she knows she probably is.

“And he is…?” Ron asks.

“You will see.” Hermione smiles as she gathers her presents up in her arms and heads back to her dormitory. She accepts holiday wishes from Parvati and Lavender and admires their gifts before writing a letter to her parents with her new quill.

The vast open windows of the Owlery let in all the crisp December air. Hermione just leans against the edge of the window, drinking it all in. The view from here is a perfect postcard of snow and evergreen trees. She turns towards the door as she hears someone approaching the door.

“Ah, _temenuzhka,_ Merry Christmas!” Viktor says, _"_ _Vesela Koleda!_ Thank you for the scarf!”

" _Vesela Koleda,"_ she repeats back, smiling. “You’re welcome.” 

Viktor comes over to her. She adjusts the scarf she got him, a warm green wool that brings out the green hints in his hazel eyes. She leaves her hands on his chest and looks up at him as he folds his arms around her waist. Her heart jumps and bumps and shivers as he leans in--

Footsteps come into the Owlery. “Oh--am I--sorry,” says an unknown voice, hurrying out, but the moment has already slid sideways. Hermione’s determined not to leave without doing _something_ , though, so she steels herself and reaches up to put her hands on either side of Viktor’s face.

“Your hands are cold,” he whispers, smiling.

“You might have to warm them up for me,” Hermione says.

Viktor takes her hands from his cheeks and folds them between his own, much larger hands. “I vill varm them for you.” He leans down and kisses her cheek. “You haff a letter to send?”

Hermione’s breathless for a moment, replaying the feeling of soft warm lips on her face. “Er--yes, I do.”

“So haff I.” Viktor lets go of her hands and steps away to choose an owl. Hermione raises her hand to touch the burning place on her cheek.

“Is the letter in Bulgarian?”

“Yes, vhy?”

“Could--could I look at it? Just to see what it looks like. I think Cyrillic is beautiful.” 

Viktor shrugs and unrolls the letter for her. The letters are different, of course, but his handwriting is the same: big loops, sharp spikes. She runs her fingers over it before handing it back. Their hands brush as he accepts the letter, which she could swear was on purpose.

“Thank you.” Hermione takes out her own letter and walks among the owls. She comes here regularly, and she’s started to have a favourite owl. She doesn’t know if the owl has a different name, but in her head, Hermione calls her Florizel. Like Hermione, Florizel is the name of a character from _A Winter’s Tale._

Florizel hoots gently and nibbles Hermione’s ear as she comes close. Hermione runs a gentle hand over Florizel’s back and scratches under what probably counts as her chin.

“Can you take this letter for me?” she asks, and Florizel sticks out her little leg. Hermione ties her letter onto the owl’s leg and offers her arm as a perch. Florizel steps onto it and ruffles her feathers as Hermione carries her to the window. “Safe travels!” Florizel hoots again before launching off Hermione’s arm.

Viktor comes up behind Hermione with an owl on his arm. He extends his arm and the owl flies away, extending its massive wingspan as it soars into the wintry sky. 

“Ready for breakfast?” Hermione asks.

“Oh, am I!” Viktor exclaims. 

Hermione laughs. She extends her hand towards him, and he takes it, and they walk down to breakfast hand-in-hand. 

Just outside the Great Hall he brings their entwined hands up to his mouth and kisses the back of hers. She pulls him into a hug before making her way over to her table, the back of her hand still tingling. Ginny looks up at her with keen eyes, but Hermione cuts her eyes at the boys, and Ginny nods, tapping the side of her nose. Hermione settles in beside Harry and runs her hands over her hair before serving herself pancakes. 

The Great Hall is beautiful this morning, glittering silver and gold, draped with red and green fabrics. Icicles sparkle from every corner and baubles float in the air alongside the candles. Hermione unwinds pieces of tinsel from around serving spoons and twines them into her curls. She is going to _glitter_ tonight. 

It’s a bit early to get ready for the dance, but her hair is going to take hours. Parvati and Lavender have been practicing, and their efforts pay off as they transform her afro into a crown of braids interwoven with tinsel. Hermione immediately wraps her hair in one of the silk scarves her mum gave her for Christmas, both to protect it and to keep it secret until the big reveal. After lunch, she helps Lavender, Parvati, Ginny, Padma, and a Ravenclaw named Luna with their hair. They all take turns doing each other’s makeup and zipping each other into their dresses, fluttering and eager like Cinderella’s flock of little helpers, though Luna mostly sits in the corner reading the _Quibbler._

Hermione takes off her scarf and looks at herself in the mirror. The vision of herself as a princess in purple sweeps away the nervousness collecting in the pit of her stomach, leaving her with only excitement.

“You look beautiful, Hermione,” Ginny says, coming up behind her. “Krum should count himself very lucky.”

Hermione smiles at Ginny in the mirror. “Thank you, Ginny.” 

Ginny runs her hand over Hermione’s upper arm before picking up the disposable camera. “Picture time!” 

Everyone cheers and crowds together to take pictures. Ginny sends a shower of harmless sparks up over them, floating down gently as the girls vogue and pose for the camera. Hermione conjures a cloud of unpoppable soap bubbles, and they take pictures wreathed in bubbles, holding them in their hands, blowing bubble kisses to the camera. Years later Hermione will remember the lights imprinted on the insides of her eyelids and the feeling of delicate bubbles on her skin. 

It’s time. 

Viktor is just outside the Gryffindor common room, as agreed, which creates quite a stir amongst all the students beginning to head down to the Great Hall. He gives Hermione a hand as she climbs out the portrait hole, holding up her skirt with the other hand. She dusts off her skirt and makes sure her braids are still in place, and her hands are still hovering around her head when she gets a proper look at Viktor.

He doesn’t say anything for a heart-stopping moment, but then he says, thickly, “You look _beautiful_ , Her-mi-o-ne,” and, oh god, Hermione might just cry.

She swipes her fingers under her eyes and smiles a happy wavery smile. “You do too, Viktor.” And he does. He’s exchanged his red wool uniform for a set of dark blue robes with a subtle green iridescence to them, and if she’s not mistaken he’s wearing a little bit of eyeliner, and oh help! 

He holds out a corsage, a white rose on a ribbon that matches her dress, and she holds out her wrist so he can tie it on.

“How did you know I was going to wear _temenuzhka?"_ Hermione asks.

Viktor fights back a smile. “I asked your friend, Lavender. I think she has just the perfect name.” He gestures at Hermione’s dress with the hand not holding hers. 

Hermione laughs. “You’re right.” She squeezes Viktor’s hand. “Are you ready?”

“I am ready,” he affirms, nodding. Hermione accepts his outstretched arm and they float their way down the staircase. Hermione isn’t sure her feet touch the ground at all. She hasn’t had anything to drink, but it feels like she’s full of champagne and the bubbles might lift her all the way up to the ceiling. 

They met the other champions in a little room off the Great Hall for McGonagall to tell them how to make their grand entrance. Hermione grins at Harry, who seems to have completely lost the power of speech. He’s across the room, standing with Luna, who wears a bright yellow dress elaborately embroidered with flowers and turnips.

McGonagall releases them and they walk into the Great Hall, where everyone’s eyes settle on them. Viktor takes Hermione’s hand and puts his other hand on her waist, ready for the waltz. There’s an exquisite pause as the band lifts their instruments into the air and everyone holds their breath--

and it begins.

Hermione closes her eyes as Viktor gently leads her across the floor, taking in the room with her other senses. It smells like candles, pine trees, and gingerbread; there’s a warm hum of talk mingling with the music emanating from the band in the corner. The air is cool on her face as she’s swirled around the room, and Viktor’s hand is warm in hers. He smells like pomade and a rich, dark cologne. 

They’ve only just picked up goblets full of sickly sweet punch when the band transitions into a slow song. Hermione sets her goblet down too quickly, sloshing red punch onto the tablecloth, and cleans it up with a flick of her wand.

“We have to slow dance!” she says, holding out her hand.

“Ve haff to?” Viktor teases, but he accepts her hand all the same. As much as he _feels_ taller, he only has a few inches on Hermione, especially in her heels. She has to settle for tucking her head into his neck, which is surprisingly soft. She has one hand on his shoulder and the other on his back; both his hands come to rest on her back. How is it she’s never realised before how nice it is to be held like this? Harry and Ron aren’t huggers, and the hugs she shares with Parvati and Lavender are quick, A-frame affairs. She snuggles even closer to Viktor, relaxing into his chest.

They rock gently back and forth.

“They call this dancing?” Viktor asks softly, but he doesn’t sound bothered.

Hermione chuckles against his skin. “Slow dancing, yes.” 

“I like it,” Viktor says, even softer. “I like you, _temenuzhka."_

With that, Hermione moves away from him enough to take his hand and tug him towards the doors leading out onto the grounds. 

“Vat--”

“You’ll see,” Hermione says, and as soon as they’re out of the Great Hall she backs him up against a wall and kisses him.

His lips, soft and warm, fall open against hers. She is instantly drunk on the feeling, but she pulls back enough to look at him. His eyes are wide, a smile already spreading across his face. Before she has a chance to say anything, Krum leans forward and takes her face in his hands, bringing her back to him.

It begins as a curious _hello!_ , a friendly exploration, a smile in action. It quickly slides into little nips, questing tongues, hands on hips. Eventually Hermione pulls back and cradles his head between her hands. 

“I like you too, Viktor.” She smiles. “I need to find a nickname for you.”

“I think ve haff plenty of time for that.” Viktor leans forward to give her a quick kiss. “Shall ve go back in…?”

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet,” Hermione says, pulling him back in.


End file.
